


his sweet kiss

by witchertrashbag (intothegarbagechute)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, lil bit of cocksucking, the ship is Jaskier x Any Witcher OTP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23014945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothegarbagechute/pseuds/witchertrashbag
Summary: What Geralt doesn’t know is that in the years they’ve travelled separately, Jaskier has actually metseveralWitchers.Like """"met"""" them.They fucked. And here's how!
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert/Eskel/Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir
Comments: 178
Kudos: 1622
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No underage, but Jask is barely 18 in one section of this with a much, much older person, FYI.
> 
> This is a fill from a beautiful anon prompt, originally posted to [witchertrashbag](https://witchertrashbag.tumblr.com/post/611632513415249920/prompt-mayhaps-but-yknow-the-jaskier-being), and reformatted for a03:
> 
> But y'know the jaskier being witchersexual thing ran away with my imagination for a bit so. Him making all the witchers who've never known true, selfless love feel so fucking special?! Someone who bothers to get to know them as individuals and doesn't want them to do this or that which absolutely baffles our mutant boys? Jask preparing (or at least attempting to) sweet gifts/food for the himbo's? Beautiful.

What Geralt doesn’t know is that in the years they’ve travelled separately, Jaskier has actually met _several_ Witchers.

He met Lambert just after Geralt left him on the mountainside– or he left Geralt, really, he kept telling Lambert over more and more pints of ale that just seemed to keep appearing under Lambert’s harsh jokes and quirked eyebrow and mischievous smile.

Jaskier knew what smiles like that meant, and he dove in headfirst for a good, rough fuck.

What he didn’t expect was how this fiery man would crumble instantly under a loving touch and kind word, how Jaskier’s gentle moans and praises would soften the rough grasp of those weathered hands bruising his hips–-

"You’re so big, fuck– you feel so good, giving me just what I need, my sweet thing– _I can’t get enough of you, please– don’t stop– I need you–_ "

And Lambert is languidly rolling into him, doing his very best to hit Jaskier just right, stunned but not daring to dream this is anything more than pretty words from a pretty wordsmith. He’s rewarded by Jaskier turning and looking back at him, leaning in to catch a kiss from that sweet mouth, and he almost chokes as he sees the plain honesty on his face, in his eyes, and comes, hard, sobbing.

After, Jaskier orders foods Lambert hasn’t even heard of sent up and feeds him like a pet, a predatory cat practically curled in his lap.

Jaskier murmurs praises to him as he strokes his hair:

"So good, so strong."

"Ruining me..."

"You’re so much stronger than you know."

Lambert is afraid, for the first time in his life. Afraid that if he sleeps, he’ll find Jaskier has gone when he wakes. And he can’t lose this.

-–

Jaskier found Eskel five months after separating from Geralt again, after the incident in Cintra, finds the strange witcher in a heap on the side of the road, only semi-conscious and too heavy to carry.

Eskel wakes up in the bedroom of a tavern to cool blue eyes looking worryingly over him and thinks he’s surely died but didn’t expect to end up here. Jaskier’s gotten an entire nearby village working to heal the man before he even learns his name.

He hums softly as Eskel drifts in and out of consciousness, and Eskel can’t believe he feels a soft kiss pressed to his forehead, because who would touch him like that, so softly, after the things he’s done?

Eskel eventually regains his strength and realizes the bard has paid for everything, and demands to repay him.

He doesn’t miss the hungry way Jaskier looks up and down his frame, feels the heat rise deep within him at the sight of this long, lean man, but knows he must be misreading things, until:

"I know exactly how you’ll repay me."

No one has ever dared to order Eskel around like that.

He’s half-hard about it already.

Jaskier pushes him to his knees and Eskel finds his mouth open and ready for Jaskier’s long cock, his eyes eager for it, wondering how he got here. He sucks sloppily but greedily, and Jaskier rewards him with soft praise:

"Good witcher, doing such a good job, I’m so hard at the sight of you."

Eskel moans at it, his dick hard and twitching now.

"You’re so beautiful like this."

Eskel is quite sure no one has ever called him beautiful before, especially not after the scar that marrs his face, reminding him of exactly what he–-

"Please, please I need you, my dear, I need you inside me."

So he gets off his knees and is shocked to find Jaskier drawing him into a deep kiss, holding his cheeks, desperately pressing their bodies together, removing his clothes, lavishing licks and kisses across his chest, Jaskier’s hands roaming freely. he’s never felt this consumed by someone before. usually at the brothels, a harlot’s touch is hesitant at best, bracing at worst–-

"Stop thinking and fuck me, darling."

And Jaskier is on his back on the bed, his legs spread wide so Eskel can see him, see how hard he is for him as Jaskier presses fingers into himself, and he finds himself on his knees again, trailing kisses up Jaskier’s thighs, dipping his tongue inside him to help, and he’s never done anything like this before–-

"Good, you’re so good, _fuck that’s good, oh please I need you–-"_

Eskel moans again at the praise, his cock throbbing and leaking as he brings it to Jaskier, who watches him hungrily, adoringly, moaning deliciously as he slowly presses in.

His every thrust is met with:

_"You’re beautiful, so beautiful--"_

And he wishes Jaskier were on his hands and knees like he usually takes men, but he can’t stop– can’t look away from those cool blue eyes– and he starts to quietly cry.

Jaskier stops everything and just holds him, softly stroking his hair, laying kisses along his scar, whispering:

"It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright, I’ve got you, I’ve got you..."

And he does. When they part ways, Jaskier leaves him with a signet ring to remember him by. Eskel wears it on a chain next to his skin.

-–

Jaskier lost his virginity to Vesemir just months before he met Geralt.

He’d just left home with nothing but a stolen lute when his finery attracted a pack of bandits. Vesemir swooped in like a wraith, easily dispatching the half-dozen men, checking to see that Jaskier was alright, and was about to leave when Jaskier _swooned_ into his arms.

The boy was terrified, adrenaline surging through him, and although his soft throat and sweet lips and the enticing tendrils of hair peeking from his roughed-up doublet stirred something in Vesemir that had slept long and deep, he knew he needed to leave.

But Jaskier was already in his arms; all he had to do was tilt his head up and take the older man’s lips in a soft, breathless kiss.

"You saved me."

It was like a poorly-written ballad, but Jaskier fluttered his eyes and let his hands roam appreciatively over Vesemir’s arms and chest, and lower...

"Let me repay you, please..."

And somehow Jaskier was already on his knees, undoing Vesemir’s belt--

Vesemir stepped away, looking at the boy pityingly.

"I’ve never–-," Jaskier said. "Please, I want this. I think you’ll be gentle with me."

It melts something inside Vesemir, and he hears how much trust this absolute stranger puts in him, in this terrifying man most of the world hates and shuns, but Jaskier–-. It’s like sunlight to him, like a drug, and so he consents.

He pays for a room at an inn, he won’t rut this boy against a tree somewhere. He carefully selects the best oil. He peels away the layers of his clothes, washing himself, washing them both, caring for Jaskier, and Jaskier hums into it, every gentle touch, laying himself bare so trustingly.

Vesemir slowly works him open for over an hour, his keen ears carefully attuned to Jaskier’s breath and heart rate, to his level of arousal, with an almost clinical precision, but when he _moans--._ Vesemir chokes back his own arousal, until:

 _"_ Please _, fuck,_ please let me. _.."_

Jaskier is energetic and eager, and he can’t stop kissing Vesemir, grasping at his hard dick.

_"Please, I’m ready, I need–-"_

_“_ I’ll tell you when you’re ready, bard.” Vesemir sees Jaskier grow even harder at his command, his entire body flushed with arousal.

By the time he slowly, slowly presses into Jaskier, he knows they both won’t last very long. The evening has taken every drop of his legendary witcher stamina to get him here.

Vesemir rolls gently into Jaskier, earning a delicious moan with each push.

_"–fuck, I can’t– I can’t last– fuck–"_

Vesemir groans at the tight heat surrounding his cock, at the gorgeous sight of Jaskier laid bare before him, and that melting something within him breaks off, like a chunk of iceberg returning to the sea, and he’s coming, _hard_ , with a long, soft moan, and _fuck_ he didn’t mean to come inside him–-

He looks down and finds Jaskier covered in his own come, grinning devilishly at him.

"Let's do that again. Please."

Jaskier gives him a simple ribbon when they part. Vesemir wraps it around the hilt of his sword.

–-

Kaer Morhen is about as far from everything as it could be. Geralt hopes for a warm welcome when he arrives with Ciri.

He does not expect to find Jaskier there, led in by Lambert and feeding Eskel, pressed into Vesemir’s lap in a state of undress.

He presses his hand over Ciri’s eyes. And takes a deep breath. It’s gonna be a long winter.

_Fuck._


	2. but the story is this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming out of an addition to the prompt! This turned into a 106 fix-it/apology fic, which means... it has a plot??? WHOOPS!
> 
> _As a wee addition to that maybe Geralt finally getting his head out of his ass and once he & the precious boy get together he really needs Jaskier to be the first man to top him (and so it happens, very thoroughly and many times)_

It _is_ a long winter.

Geralt finds it hard to explain to Ciri that no, Jaskier isn't a witcher, no, he's not normally here, and no, he's not here for training.

"Then why's he always coming out of places breathing so hard? I think you're wrong, I think he's sparring with the other witchers."

It twists and writhes within Geralt like his intestines have become snakes. He breathes deeply, concentrates on Ciri and his work, and does his best to avoid Jaskier.

It does not help that Jaskier is _everywhere_ , that he can _hear him_ and exactly what he's doing with his brothers, with Vesemir, that even when the bard isn't around, Lambert or Eskel shoot daggers at him with their eyes.

Not the warm welcome he'd hoped for.

Early one morning he rises before dawn in the blissful silence of the keep and climbs to a tower to meditate. It's snowing. Snow clouds always seem to dampen the sound, encapsulating you in a world of your own. Geralt kneels gratefully and closes his eyes to begin.

"It's time we talked," says Vesemir from the corner.

Geralt flinches curses himself for not sensing his mentor-- truly a testament to how out of sorts the whole situation has made him.

"He misses you," Vesemir says simply.

Geralt sighs deeply. "Even after what I said to him."

Vesemir steps toward him. "Words are strong. But actions are much stronger. You know this," he tells Geralt. Then smirks. "It's why you use so few words."

"Hmm," Geralt offers, proving his point.

"Of course, your brothers and I won't mind keeping him warm until you find the right ones," Vesemir says evilly.

"What? I don't--. We haven't--. I'm..."

"Hmm," Vesemir intones, sweeping from the tower.

Geralt kneels there for quite some time, unable to meditate on anything but that conversation and his last with Jaskier. The silence is broken only by the loud-- _startlingly loud, he thinks_ \-- sounds of Jaskier about to come again, singing his praises to Lambert and his big strong cock.

_Fuck._

\--

It takes a month for him to talk to Jaskier. A month where Jaskier is still flitting from bed to bed, making the most haunting, depraved noises. A month where Lambert and Eskel taunt him with satisfied smiles and deep, languid stretches, casual remarks to one another about the bard's many talents, his scent all over them. A month where he has to endure Jaskier calling Vesemir _Daddy_ , and the twitch of his cock every single goddamn time he hears it, and the angry look Jaskier shoots him when he does.

A month of Geralt saying he's sorry in every way he can think. He brings the bard flowers from five days' ride away and gets a sneeze in thanks. He hunts him rabbits, makes a stew the bard lovingly serves to Eskel. He brings him a brooch from a foreign court, a new tome from Oxenfurt-- he's about to bring him one of Valdo Marx's lute fingers when he remembers what Vesemir says and asks Jaskier to come with him.

Geralt leads him into one of the few cozy, unruined parts of the keep, where he's lit a strong fire in a stove. He gets on his knees before Jaskier, as open and vulnerable as he knows how, and apologizes.

"If I'd known a little jealousy is all it took, I'd have traveled with one of them long ago."

"I'm not jealous. I'm sorry. I just said--"

"So this apology has nothing to do with you hearing and seeing and probably smelling what I've been up to with the others. Which you've only been aware of... since you started trying to apologize to me."

"No."

"Then I don't accept."

"What?" Geralt got to his feet.

"I grew up at court, Geralt, among secrets and spies. I can tell when someone-- especially you-- isn't being honest with me. I want an honest apology. If it's not jealousy-- _what the fuck is it_?"

Geralt stammers and his mouth honest-to-god opens and closes several times, until Jaskier leaves the room.

\--

It takes Geralt another torturous month-- the solstice long gone, the winter deep and clutching now-- a very long month where the weather is so bad it's dangerous, even for a witcher, to leave the keep and wander the world alone. Roach wouldn't make it out there, he tells himself, rubbing her down.

In this month, Ciri has befriended Jaskier.

Geralt can hear her laughing and giggling with him, see Vesemir's approving eyes as Jaskier takes over some of her book learning, tutoring her in music, composition, and deception.

Geralt finds himself glancing over at them, fondly. Jaskier's eyes flick up and meet his, a warm smile on his face for just a moment, until. Jaskier looks away. Something in Geralt _aches_ , much worse than his intestines turning into snakes. A deep longing.

The obviousness of it creeps slowly across him, and he knows.

What he doesn't know is what to do.

He approaches Vesemir first, for advice.

"He wants a challenge-- you don't have to be totally vulnerable at first."

"What do you mean, _at first_?" Geralt asks, then snaps his head back down again, eager to listen.

"Give him something simple. A hot bath. Care for him, paint a picture for him. He's very visual, you know."

"I'm terrible at painting."

"Almost as terrible as you are with metaphors. _Display_ yourself, Geralt."

"Why would that be appealing?"

Vesemir pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and drifts away. "That's the end of your lesson for today."

"What? These aren't-- these aren't lessons!" Geralt shouts after him, feeling like a teenage boy again, desperate for his father's approval.

Lambert has better advice, more direct and to-the-point, although it comes with a terrible terrible cost.

"Nuzzle his neck while you cup his balls, he _loves_ that, a little bite, but soft. Then just draw a little finger back, brushing against--"

"That's enough, I get it," says Geralt.

"I don't think you do," Lambert says, gesturing out exactly what he means. "And keep eye contact when you suck him off, he moans like a filthy angel. He loves it if you're loud--"

"I've heard it, I get it," says Geralt definitively.

Eskel is more reserved, and Geralt realizes his brother-- in many ways the other side of the coin from him-- is actually sussing _him_ out. Eskel makes him swear on everything he can think of that he won't hurt Jaskier again. Geralt thinks he manages to convince him, but seeing that deep attachment Eskel has to Jaskier... it's unlike anything Geralt has seen or experienced before. It's not fiery, bellicose-- he's not about to jump up and take a swing at him. It's so _soft_ and vulnerable, but impervious somehow. It itches right at the part of Geralt that's aching, and he wish he knew more words.

\--

The first day it's not dangerous to go outside, Vesemir takes Ciri into the woods for the day to teach her to hunt.

Geralt has carefully cleaned himself, even used a comb in his hair, remembering the way Jaskier made him fit for Calanthe's court all those years ago. He realizes he's felt this way for so many years, so many years when he could've--. Geralt empties and pours a fresh bath, steaming hot, carrying gallons of water from the well and boiling it at the nearby fire, knowing the cold castle will chill it off quickly enough.

When Jaskier deigns to join him in the chamber, candles warming the dim blue winter light, Geralt is careful to display himself, although he's still not quite sure what that means. He's chosen the trousers that cling to him, a thin, fitted tunic he typically only uses as an innermost layer of many against the cold. 

Jaskier takes it all in, a little astonishment flicking across his face. "What's all this?"

"I thought you might like..." Geralt says, gesturing to the tub, "a bath."

"Thank you, Geralt, that's very thoughtful of you," Jaskier says, stepping towards the tub. Then: "Close the door when you go, I don't want any drafts."

"No," Geralt says softly, insistently, trying to get this just right. "I'd like-- if you would like, if you'll let me." He stalls out. This is hard, harder than he thought it'd be, and he's pretty sure the other witchers can hear his heart pounding in his chest.

"Geralt?"

"If you'd like, I could bathe you."

"Oh." Jaskier's face flushes slightly, innocently, as though he hasn't been fucking witchers left and right since he got here on every available horizontal surface. And some vertical ones.

Jaskier starts to remove his doublet, and Geralt moves his hand to do it for him. They're so close now, closer than they've been in a long time, each feeling the other's breath, inhaling the scent of each other as Geralt slowly, gently eases Jaskier's doublet off and carefully lays it on a chair. He's careful not to brush Jaskier's skin as his hands slide along the tunic covering Jaskier's delicious biceps. He gently pulls the tunic out of Jaskier's trousers and off his arms, and finds they're face-to-face, just inches apart, and if Geralt could blush, he would.

Jaskier smirks as Geralt adds the tunic to the doublet.

"If I'm going to be naked, I think you ought to lose this tunic. It might get wet," Jaskier says as he licks his lips, and Geralt licks his, too, already getting hard.

"Let it get wet."

Jaskier looks him in the eye, and the way he says, "Let me see you," Geralt knows he's not talking about the tunic. But he takes it off nonetheless, and is graced with a smile that feels like the fucking sun, like spring is around the corner.

He carefully peels Jaskier's trousers and smallclothes off, coming into a crouch as he does so, bringing himself to eye-level with Jaskier's (not totally uninterested) cock. He glances up at Jaskier and licks his lips intentionally before he stands, and is delighted to see Jaskier's mouth has fallen open.

Jaskier steps into the tub. He hums as Geralt sits behind him and slowly, gently washes his chest and shoulders, his hair, massaging his scalp, and those hums turn into a little moan.

"Geralt."

"Hmm?"

"Come in here with me," Jaskier says, twisting to look at him, a smirk crossing his lips. "If you're to wash the rest of me."

Geralt takes a deep breath. He remembers what Vesemir said and is slow and deliberate as he bends over to peel off his pants, watching the bard as he does. He notes with pleasure that Jaskier swallows, hard. He straightens, exposing his half-hard cock, and feels more vulnerable than ever as he steps into the tub.

He lovingly washes Jaskier, massaging his feet, scrubbing up his legs. He looks and waits for a nod before he goes further, reaching around to scrub his beautiful ass, around to his balls, his--

Jaskier inhales sharply, a curious smile on his face. Geralt stops.

"Have you been jealous? Of them?"

Geralt sits back on his heels.

"I've been weak." --his heart is pounding so loud, he's never been this scared in his life, not when he thought there was a seventy-percent chance of dying-- "And wanting."

It's the truth. And Jaskier demanded the truth. Geralt can't decipher the mixture of expressions on his face, so he looks down at Jaskier's cock, and it's hard, so he's thinking this is an overall good.

"And what do you want, Geralt?" Jaskier asks, and just like that Geralt is stumped again.

"I want you," he says simply.

"How, exactly?" the bard whispers, leaning in close to Geralt, his face coated with desire. "I want to hear what you want."

Geralt leans in close, testingly, and kisses him. He's not good with words, actions _are_ stronger, and this is what he wants right now. Jaskier kisses back, hard, opening Geralt with his tongue, and Geralt groans into it, taking Jaskier's face in his hands, repositioning his body, touching, suddenly desperate to be closer to him, overwhelmed by him. He kisses down his throat and a thumb flicks over the bard's nipple, eliciting a hiss.

"Good, _fuck_ that's so good..."

Geralt beams with the praise, threading his fingers through Jaskier's hair, kissing and licking and pulling his head back so he can get more of his neck so he can _devour this man._ He remembers Lambert and drags his other hand down, palming his balls, and Jaskier gives him the most delicious moan. He drags a finger back--

He feels Jaskier's hand circle his cock and a hollow noise chokes out of him.

"No?" Jaskier says teasingly, stroking him. "Do you want me to stop?" Jaskier eyes him sharply, challenging him to talk.

" _P-please. Please don't stop_."

"Good," Jaskier practically moans. "Tell me what you want."

"I want-- _fuck_ ," Geralt pants out, writhing against Jaskier's touch.

"Tell me, Geralt," he says as he squeezes. "Do you want to come like this? Dirtying the bath?"

"No, _please_."

"Then what?"

"I want you in my mouth, Jaskier."

Jaskier releases his cock and it knocks the wind out of him. The bard looks nervous, expectant, waiting. Geralt grunts and carefully rises from the tub, stepping out and offering a hand to Jaskier. Jaskier takes it, lets himself be led to the fire, to be dried adoringly by Geralt on his knees, to be gently pressed against the warm stones of the chimney as Geralt gets himself into position. He can kneel for hours.

Jaskier drags his fingers through that thick, white hair. Geralt softly, gently looks up into his eyes, letting him know how devoted he is, how much he owns him, how--

"Being so good, so good."

Geralt hums as he licks his lips and takes Jaskier's cock, watching him as he brings a hand to circle his cock, another to his balls, desperate to see the reaction to every move. Jaskier is radiant, throwing his head back and tugging hard as Geralt takes his length in his throat, choking a little, and bobs back again, sucking hard on what he can fit in his mouth.

"Good, so good at sucking my cock."

Geralt moans and sucks harder, still watching Jaskier, until-- his eyes flick open and he realizes he's being watched. He curses, thrusting against Geralt's face, pushing more of himself in, and Geralt struggles to take it but doesn't stop watching.

"You look like you were born to do this, _fuck_."

Geralt presses his hips into the chimney and eases back, releasing his cock with a soft _pop_.

Jaskier whines about it, squirming against his palms.

"Jaskier," Geralt says quietly. "I... I want you to fuck me."

Jaskier's eyes go wide. Geralt licks his lips and fucking kisses his dick.

"Please," he adds, then: "If you want to."

"If I want to--" Jaskier adds with a taunting grin. He eases Geralt back onto his back before the fire, kneeling between his legs. Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier and draws him back for a kiss, deep and sweet and aching the way Geralt feels in the pit of him, pressing it all into Jaskier, hoping he can feel it.

Jaskier draws back, breathless, looking hungry as a wolf, his hair drying wildly.

"If I don't start this we won't get very far."

"Jaskier," Geralt breathes.

"Yes, love?"

"I... I've never... before. With a man. This way. I mean..." Geralt lifts himself onto his elbows. "I want you to..."

"...do the honors." Jaskier says breathlessly. "Holy shit yes, yes, Geralt."

Geralt grins: Jaskier is openly enthusiastic now, previous barriers seemingly melted away. He watches as Jaskier concentrates, covering his fingers in oils, sliding over his cock to distract him as he slips a finger inside him. Geralt has always wondered how this would feel; he even tried himself once, but didn't get very far without the right... equipment. He feels tingly and raw and laid out before Jaskier like this, he thought he'd feel so vulnerable and weak but he doesn't-- he feels overwhelmed by Jaskier, by his love for Jaskier, consumed by it. Like every touch cracks open that ache, and he's choking on it, the feeling of it. He finds he's been muttering a tumble of curses and Jaskier's name and he doesn't care.

Jaskier makes him wait, dancing him on the edge of his pleasure, and a cold fury flashes through Geralt, at himself, that they haven't been doing this for decades, and it's quelled by the next words from Jaskier's lips:

"So good, you're doing so good for me, you're opening up so beautifully my love."

and

"So sweet, my sweet witcher, what a gift you are."

and

"Fuck, you're so strong, you look so fucking hot like this, laid out for me like a feast, I want to devour you."

Geralt is pretty sure he could come from Jaskier's words alone at this point, and he bucks into him when he feels Jaskier's lips on his cockhead as he makes it an even four fingers up inside him.

" _Please, please, Jaskier-- I need you. I need you. I need you_ " is all he can plead, and Jaskier releases his cock and removes his fingers. Geralt gasps at the emptiness until Jaskier holds him-- he almost doesn't let Jaskier go.

" _Please_ " he whispers into his ear, kissing the soft skin below. Jaskier shudders with pleasure and slowly, slowly presses into Geralt.

Geralt moans openly, obscenely, curses tumbling out of him.

"Look at me."

His eyes snap open and he sees Jaskier, sweating with the heat of their bodies and the fire, rolling slow thrusts into him.

"God you're so beautiful Jaskier, fuck. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, so sorry," he says.

"You're forgiven, you idiot, just don't do it again," Jaskier tells him with a thrust, and Geralt finds tears streaming down his face. Jaskier shifts his angle and Geralt is a fucking mess, he's just moaning, loud, filling the room with his desire.

"Harder, _please_." And Jaskier curses and lifts his giant thighs and fucks him harder. Geralt grips his ass, pulling him in deeper, desperate to feel every inch of him.

"Fuck, you're so good, so good Geralt, you feel so good."

Geralt's cock is untouched between them, straining and leaking freely.

"Fuck, fuck, Jaskier, you're so-- so--"

"Come for me, Geralt," Jaskier says, pressing a finger just behind his balls, and Geralt finally tumbles over the edge and comes, hard, screaming and begging Jaskier's name. A few quick thrusts and Jaskier is behind him at the sight of this great man come undone, his cum streaked across his own chest, up onto his chiseled chin. Jaskier collapses onto him and Geralt pulls him in tightly as they catch their breath.

They stay up there for hours, Jaskier teasing Geralt to the edge of his stamina, Geralt offering himself again and again, desperate to get fucked in every possible position by the devil. They bathe again and get worked up again and Jaskier bends Geralt over the edge of the tub and fucks him within an inch of his life until Geralt is begging, begging for release, to be touched, and Jaskier makes him come with praise alone.

When they finally emerge, exhausted, Geralt's arm slung over Jaskier's shoulder, Geralt is pleased to see the shocked jealousy on Lambert and Eskel's faces. Jaskier notices and slaps his ass, hard, and Geralt finds it difficult to walk for the rest of the day.


	3. I welcome my sentence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You seem happy, Geralt."_
> 
> _Geralt stretched happily, and gave him a: "Hmm."_
> 
> _"I'm glad the bard has forgiven you..."_
> 
> _"Hmmmm," Geralt hummed, almost dreamily._
> 
> _"...but the rest of us haven't yet."_
> 
> _Geralt's eyes snapped to Vesemir's face, and he saw a mischievous twinkle in his eye._
> 
> _"What are you--"_
> 
> _"Come with me."_
> 
> _Geralt obediently followed his mentor, his senses heightening with every step._
> 
> _"I think we're going to have to punish you, Geralt. And the bard has helped me devise just the right punishment."_

The next evening, after Ciri went to sleep, exhausted from the day's training, Vesemir sat with Geralt by the fire.

"You seem happy, Geralt."

Geralt stretched happily, and gave him a: "Hmm."

"I'm glad the bard has forgiven you..."

"Hmmmm," Geralt hummed, almost dreamily.

"...but the rest of us haven't yet."

Geralt's eyes snapped to Vesemir's face, and he saw a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"What are you--"

"Come with me."

Geralt obediently followed his mentor, his senses heightening with every step.

"I think we're going to have to punish you, Geralt. And the bard has helped me devise just the right punishment."

Geralt's heart skipped a beat as he followed Vesemir into his own quarters. A fire was roaring in the giant fireplace, two chairs drawn close to it. And on the bed... Eskel and Lambert were both waiting, Eskel's shirt loose and trousers tight, Lambert already completely naked, lounging languidly across the bed.

Jaskier came up to Geralt with a nervous smile and gently touched his wrist.

"None of this is happening unless you want it to," he whispered into Geralt's ear.

Geralt watched as Vesemir took a seat by the fire and invited Geralt to join him.

"We thought the best way to punish you is to make you watch."

Geralt's eyes widened. He looked at Jaskier, who licked his lips, waiting to see what Geralt thought. 

"After all," Jaskier breathed softly, "we've always fucked other people before. Do you want to watch it happen this time?"

Jaskier dragged his teeth across Geralt's neck and he was helpless, letting out a soft little moan every witcher in the room could hear.

"Good," Jaskier whispered. "I want you to see; imagine what you look like when we're doing this."

Jaskier stepped away, and Geralt sat with Vesemir at the fire, facing the bed. Jaskier strode towards the bed, utterly in control.

"Eskel, darling, take that off _immediately,_ " he ordered. Geralt smirked to find the scarred witcher jump to obey, removing his shirt...

"...and those," Jaskier said, batting his eyes. "I want to see you, beauty."

Eskel quickly took off his trousers as Jaskier sat in Lambert's lap. Lambert stroked his hands against Jaskier's chest, pressing against him, taking as much of him as he could, while Eskel knelt before Jaskier and kissed him softly on the lips. Jaskier deepened the kiss, drawing Eskel closer to him, exploring his body with his hands and moaning deliciously. He gripped Eskel's ass and was graced with a delicious grunt from the man, who thrust his hips into Jaskier and Lambert. Lambert laid kisses down Jaskier's neck, then he softly bit the bard's ear. Jaskier looked up and saw Geralt staring at him.

Geralt's cock was aching-- his face streaked with arousal and anguish.

"Maybe we should've tied him up," Jaskier offered as Eskel and Lambert continued to consume him. Beside Geralt, Vesemir chuckled.

Geralt looked on, helpless of his own volition, as Eskel looked hungrily at Jaskier.

"You know where you look the most beautiful, darling," Jaskier told him, and Eskel sank to his knees on the floor as Lambert slowly stripped Jaskier's doublet off, teasing his shirt open with his fingers. Jaskier laid back against Lambert with a sigh.

Geralt watched as Eskel pried open Jaskier's trousers and released his half-hard cock-- Geralt grinned a little that it was only just half-hard, not straining even after their ministrations. As Eskel took it into his mouth, Jaskier looked Geralt directly in the eye.

Geralt knew better than to look away as Jaskier began moaning. In his peripheral vision, he could see Eskel expertly take in Jaskier's length while Lambert nuzzled his neck and cupped his balls, the two of them fighting for territory. Jaskier moaned loudly as Geralt imagined Lambert brushed a finger back against him.

"Good, so good," Jaskier gasped his praises, still staring into Geralt's eyes. His moans became whines, his face so flushed, and he pulled Eskel up to kiss him.

"Your tongue... _fuck_ , my darling, have you been practicing?"

Eskel, the scarred, deadly witcher, gave him the softest little smile at the praise.

"Very good, don't you think, Vesemir?"

"Very good."

Jaskier gave Eskel another quick kiss, then turned to Lambert, whose cock was hard and leaking. Jaskier climbed back into his lap, facing him.

"And _you,_ " he whispered in his ear, then kissed him. "So strong. So big. Are you ready for my cock?"

Lambert nodded.

"I want to hear you say it." Jaskier began stroking Lambert's straining cock roughly, kissing him softly. Lambert choked out a moan.

" _Fuck._ "

"Say it."

"I'm ready for you-- I got myself ready, just please--"

"Show me."

Geralt watched as Lambert got on his hands and knees, facing the top of the bed. Jaskier eased back to examine Lambert... and slowly pulled a plug out of him. Geralt could see his eyebrows raise appreciatively.

"You've done wonderfully," he breathed. "Be good for me and face Geralt. We're giving him a show, after all."

Geralt was unprepared for the sight of Lambert facing him on his hands and knees, his back arched and his ass presented to Jaskier. He was even less prepared for Jaskier to slip out of his trousers and catch his eye before slowly, slowly pressing his cock all the way into Lambert, eliciting a low growl.

"So smooth," Jaskier praised him.

But what really wrecked Geralt was Jaskier reaching back to his own ass, Eskel getting into place and licking and sucking, pressing his oiled fingers into Jaskier. Jaskier whined against Eskel's fingers as he found just the right spot. Geralt choked back a moan.

Lambert fucked himself back just once before Jaskier gripped his hips, hard.

"Darling, I know, but you have to wait."

When Jaskier was ready, his eyes met Geralt's again.

"Vesemir?"

"Hmm?"

"Do we think Geralt's been good enough that he can touch himself?"

"I don't know, little bird--"

"I do so want to watch him."

"Whatever you say, of course."

Jaskier grinned evilly and watched as Geralt drew his wet cock out of his trousers and grasped it in his hand.

Geralt watched as Jaskier thrust smoothly into Lambert and kissed his back. Eskel carefully took Jaskier's hips and pressed into him-- Jaskier's head fell back with pleasure but he found Geralt's eyes again. He thrust roughly into Lambert, who groaned deeply, then moaned as Eskel thrust into him.

" _Fuck_ , you feel so good, both of you-- so good--"

Geralt watched three of them work up a rhythm together, Eskel carefully shifting to hit Jaskier just right to make him sing. He stared Geralt down as he moaned loudly into the room.

"Let me see you," he begged, and Geralt slowly stroked up and down, matching their rhythm with his hand.

" _Fuck._ "

" _Fuck!_ This is almost what you look like with me, fucking me, taking me-- _fuck, fuck Lambert--_ what you look like getting fucked-- _Eskel, holy-- my gods don't stop_ \--"

All Geralt could see, all he could say, was _Jaskier, Jaskier, Jaskier, Jaskier, Jaskier-- please_

He looked so thoroughly used, overwhelmed, overstimulated; Geralt wanted to be both of them, touching him, kissing his neck and grabbing his hips like Eskel-- he couldn't forget the feeling of Jaskier's cock inside of him. He knew he looked depraved, his eyes must be shot black with arousal, he was openly moaning into the room as his brothers fucked this man he loved, it was almost too much as he pumped himself roughly, and Jaskier--

"Geralt _please_ \--" he choked out, absolutely sinful. Geralt moaned and came so hard he blacked out for a second, Jaskier's screams ringing in his ears giving way to the wet sounds of fucking, and Geralt opened his eyes to see Eskel coming with a shout, Lambert following him with Jaskier's hand finally around his dick.

The three of them lay in a heap on the bed, panting, Geralt still in his chair, feeling like he'd levitated somehow and returned to his body. He watched as they disentangled themselves, as Jaskier held Eskel to his chest and murmured to him, stroking his hair, as Lambert held Jaskier and tilted his chin up into a kiss, and Geralt's heart ached-- for Jaskier as well as his brothers, seeing them in this quiet way together. A tear escaped Eskel's eye and Jaskier whisked it away. Geralt felt something inside him rearrange itself.

"Please," he said, not sure if he should look to Vesemir or Jaskier, but settling on Jaskier. "Please, can I...?"

"As long as you don't get in the way, you oaf," said Lambert.

Jaskier just smiled up at Geralt, grabbed his face, and kissed him. Eskel scootched over to make some room. And Geralt slid in between them beside Jaskier, who nuzzled into him with a satisfied sigh.

"Maybe next time, Geralt, we'll watch."


End file.
